35th Annual California Indian Market

 Waxing Crescent Moon

This past weekend was the 35th Annual California Indian Market in San Juan Bautista, CA. Sponsored and organized by the One Earth One People Peace Vision non-profit group and headed by Elayne "Laynee" Reyna and Chief Sonne Reyna, this event is peaceful, educational, family-oriented, sobriety- promoting, and highly respectful to American war veterans.

San Juan Bautista was the kickoff event of the season for artisans and craftspeople from reservations and communities all over the country. In coming weeks, these native artists will take their genuine, hand-crafted, culturally significant works to powwows and markets at Stanford and further northward up the west coast. You won't find any cheap, plastic doo-dads imported from China at these markets. These folks are the real deal.

For me, the highlights of both days were the Aztec dancers and their colorful, hand-made costumes. Each dancer makes her or his own headdress and clothing, having learned from their elders the old ways, songs, and dance moves. The drumming was powerful and enchanting.

There were two groups, one made up of adult, veteran dancers, the Xipe Totec Aztecs, and one that consists of Nena "Grandma" Sanchez with her children and grandchildren and even one great grandchild, the Capulli Itzpopolotl Aztecs. The joy and dedication to this athletic, rhythmic art form were obvious in the performers' expressions and enthusiasm. Seriously, I could not have been any more impressed.

Sunday's venue included a welcome home ceremony honoring war veterans from the Korean War, the Viet Nam War, and both Gulf Wars and a special personal honoring of local hero Lou Fiori for his service and valor in Viet Nam. Those of us who have never served the country in war simply cannot know what it was like to make that sacrifice or to deal with the aftermath. Watching these veterans honoring each other with handshakes and embraces gives a little peek into how each of them bears their private burdens with strength and pride. The rest of us can only stand with respect and honor them with solemn applause. 

Peace and Love for One Earth, One People,

Jim

The Birds Revisited

Waning Gibbous Moon

On a tip from my great friend Jessica, I ordered a used copy of Daphne du Maurier's collection of short stories called Kiss Me Again, Stranger from a famous non-tax-paying internet bookseller. Jessica read my previous entry praising Hitchcock's movie The Birds and she wanted me to know that Hitchcock used du Maurier's short story of the same name as the basis of his film.

I knew very little about Daphne du Maurier. I remember from years ago when I drove a bookmobile for a public library that her books were popular with mainly the white-haired, chatty, bespectacled grandmas who frequented the bookmobile and checked out tens of books every two weeks. In my ignorance, I assumed these stories would not interest me, so I never even took a peek at one. Was I ever wrong!

My well-worn, faded, three-dollar copy of Kiss Me Again, Stranger arrived a few days ago and yesterday I sat down to read The Birds. It's thirty-five spellbinding pages long, concisely gripping and dark. I loved it. I will read the rest of the stories now that I know what a vivid storyteller she is.

Maybe I have grown a little wiser and more open-minded in my old age? Dunno. But Daphne du Maurier can paint pictures with words and scare the pants off you, too, people. Those old bookmobile biddies back in the 1970's were onto something!

Peace, Love, and Daphne,
Jim

The National Steinbeck Center

Waxing Gibbous Moon

For a measly senior rate of  $9.95, I treated myself yesterday to a visit to the National Steinbeck Center at One Main Street in Old Town, Salinas, CA. The center has been operating at this location since 1998 as a memorial museum to honor renowned author John Steinbeck, a native of the area. At 11:00 a.m. on a Saturday, I expected a large crowd, but instead, for about twenty-five minutes, I had the place to myself and two other quiet patrons. This allowed for the proper slow absorption of some of the exhibits and a bit of reflection on his stories. Some of them I have read and re-read, others I read long ago and had mostly forgotten.

As more folks filed in, it was harder for me to concentrate, but I persisted. What stood out was the amazing number of books he wrote and how many had been made into plays and films. I cannot recommend this place highly enough. While somewhat small in square footage, this museum is packed with information and context for both his novels and the movies made from them. Adding to the interest is Old Town, several blocks of rejuvenated buildings on Main Street which make for a fun stroll afterwards. Parking is close and cheap.

The exhibits are arranged in a large circle, based on the most famous of his works. My two favorites, probably like a lot of folks who live nearby, have always been East of Eden and Cannery Row. I recently re-watched the classic movie version of East of Eden starring James Dean. I was stunned by how much more I appreciated it now than when I was younger. Maybe that's because I have lived in an agricultural community (just twenty miles or so Northeast of Eden) for the last fourteen years. Or maybe some misty bit of wisdom has wiggled its way through the sloppy folds of my brain over time. Regardless, this story ranks right up there with the very best.

I see Cannery Row as an environmental parable, a warning shot, and a call to awakening about human greed and over-fishing, resource-gobbling, self-destructive stupidity. The characters are sharp and the language is brilliant, too. And I still think this is the best opening line of a novel I have ever read.

Why did I wait so long to have this Steinbeck museum experience? When I was teaching I was just too busy, but I have been retired for almost six years - never once did I drive over the divide and see it. Maybe next I will head down to the Sea of Cortez - let the ghosts of John Steinbeck and Doc Ricketts teach me more about life and nature and relationships.

Peace, Love, and the Tides of Time,
Jim

Los Pajaros del Mar

Waning Crescent Moon

Fifty-six years ago today Alfred Hitchcock released The Birds, which, along with Psycho, permanently scarred the fragile, developing medullas of an entire generation. It wasn't Elvis or Little Richard or Dylan or Kesey or the Beatles or Hendrix or Joplin that screwed everybody up. It was Alfred Freakin' Hitchcock.

Filmed mostly in Bodega Bay, just 130 miles up the coast from here, The Birds starred Tippi Hedren and Rod Taylor, with a minor appearance by a very young Suzanne Pleshette. Pleshette was so addled by her role in the movie that she spent several tri-polar years married to TV psychologist Bob Newhart. Thank God. What a great show. Every single character was certifiably cuckoo.

So what did I do to celebrate my personal, cracked-up-cortex anniversary? I went to the beach, of course, knowing full well there would be no telephone booths to hide in, that every church in a fifty mile radius would be locked up tight, that every school would be fenced and gated and patrolled by an armed resource officer, and that every place of business would charge me top dollar to hide behind their counter. My only refuge would be Spugly the Spectacularly Ugly Palomino Transporter, which already has a couple of cracks in its windshield, and a pair of wobbly, stinkin' green port-a-potties on the edge of the parking lot, which is separated from the beach by a steep line of sand dunes. Sheesh.

Okay, not to bore you, I'll cut right to the chase. Nothing bad happened. I walked a little over six miles in the sand and I saw all kinds of beach and sea birds, especially at the mouth of the Pajaro River near Zmudowski Beach. Pajaro, of course, means "bird" en Espanol. It was the opposite of scary as hell. It was heavenly. I loved it.

I saw snowy plovers, black flying cormorants, gulls, sulking red-faced turkey vultures, nervous curlews and sandpipers, but nary a pelican, not a solitary one. I saw a single bobbing sea otter and a bunch of fat, lazy harbor seals napping on a spit in the harbor. I only saw a handful of other, non-scared humans. All together it was a great, fun day.

Probably, it is better that no birds gang-pecked me or chased me over the dunes into the potty. Maybe after fifty-six years the generational curse is over and The Birds is merely another classic scary movie. Maybe. I hope so. At this point, I can't outrun a sea turtle much less a flock of crazed sea birds.

Peace, Love, and {insert seagulls squawking here},

Jim

Trip Al Sur

Waxing Gibbous Moon

Ever since I came back from Arizona, there has been one cold rain event after another. Until this week, that is. El Sol came out on Tuesday and stayed gently brilliant every day, old school style, the OG  blazing his casual self from morning to night. How could anyone not be in a happy mood?

I enhanced the weather change with a quick truck trip down south, swinging through Paso Robles, Pismo Beach, Santa Barbara, Carpenteria, Figueroa Mountain, San Luis Obispo, Cayucos, Ragged Point, Gorda, Lucia, Big Sur, Carmel, and Monterey. The drive home up Highway 1 along the coast was ideal, primo, super, stupendous. All those rainy days are gone, erased from the memory bank by Papa Sun and Mama Surf. I heart California.

After breakfast at Vic's Cafe, a little stroll around downtown Paso Robles.

Then a quick stop at Palisades Park in Pismo Beach. Couldn't resist.

Sort of a nice place for a park.

In Santa Barbara, I joined Craig and Don and their dogs Myra and Ozzie for a sunset walk on East Beach. The lighting was simply holy. 

Ozzie left, Myra right. 

East Beach sunset.

Next morning was breakfast at Esau's Cafe in Carpenteria. Esau's used to be on State Street in Santa Barbara, but I guess the rent got too expensive. The cool vibe is just the same in Carp and so is the food - yum. A quick walk on the World's Safest Beach aided digestion.

No worries, it's Carp.

I wanted to go up to Figueroa Mountain to see if there might be a wildflower bloom happening. It was too early for a major splash, but it didn't matter. The scenery was great and the air was magnificent. It didn't hurt that I got to ride in Craig's 1990's gimme-a- ticket-red Porsche Boxster convertible up and back. A racy go cart for grown-ups.

A little color was happening on the south facing side, much too far for me to hike right now.

The Sun did not disappoint the next morning in SB, lighting up the Dolphin statues by Stearn's Wharf after breakfast at the Breakwater Cafe.

Joy.

Then it was back up the 101 to San Luis Obispo to check out some new-to-me parks and museums downtown.

I especially liked Cheng Park and this disturbingly friendly creature.

Cayucos on Highway 1 is one of my favorite beach towns ever. Will it continue to survive with its sea charm and laid back surf demeanor or will the monsters of development consume it, too?

Long live Cayucos.

The Big Sur coast from Ragged Point to Carmel is magnificent, the jewel of North America. I have bicycled it three times and I have driven it too many times to count, but it never gets old, particularly when the weather is as perfect as this. I always get a fried egg sandwich at the grill in Ragged Point. Always. It is still $4.95 and as awesome as ever after all these years.

Ragged Point

Yer basic Big Sur coast pic.

I stopped at all my little favorite turnouts and reminisced about bike journeys both with different folks and solo. I am confident that this is one place that will outlive all the crazy. God rules here.

Peace, Love, and the Left Coast,
Jim

Free Solo

Waning Crescent Moon

I watched Free Solo commercial-free on the National Geographic channel tonight. Let me preface the fact that I loved it by saying that my stomach churned constantly and I ground my teeth the whole way through. Okay, I loved it.

Free Solo recently won an Oscar for the most ferociously bone-chilling, death-defying, Samurai-warrior-climbing-El Capitan-without-a-rope-on-a-June-day-in-just-under-four-hours-with-a-film-crew-all-set-to-hurl-and-cry documentary ever conceived and executed. God almighty, this thing is fiery intense!

El Capitan, if you don't know, is a three thousand feet tall gorgeous granite vertical wall in Yosemite National Park. Other climbers have scaled it using ropes and all the climbing gear "normally" used for such endeavors. Only Alex Honnald has free-climbed it all by his lonesome.

Is he crazy? A genius? Superman? My guess is all three. Seriously, this is the single most impressive athletic accomplishment I have ever seen. His strength is one thing. His endurance is another. His focus/presence/relaxed intensity is alien, from the spirit realm.

You know at the beginning and throughout the whole film that he is going to make it, that he is not going to fall, but does that make any difference? No. You still are a bundle of nerves. Sweaty hands. Butterflies. Shortness of breath. Muttering omg's and other colorful stuff. The film crew, climbers all, can barely even watch and I promise you that you will look away at least once, if not several times. You might even puke all over your shirt. Keep a towel handy just in case.

At the end, on top of El Cap, after he finishes, what does he have to say? Of all the things you can think of that he might say, what does he say? I won't spoil it for you.

Peace, Love, and Wow,

Jim

Snow Thanks, I'll Pass

Photo credit: Pat Mount from her home in Tucson

Waning Gibbous Moon

This whole snowing-in-Arizona thing solidifies the notion that my crash in the canyon may have been a trail god blessing in disguise. Even a younger, stronger, healthier Palomino would have struggled to continue through this February mess. I am fairly certain much of it will melt by this time next month, but right now I would not want to try it. The Arizona Trail holds a lot of promise for beautiful hiking. I'll wait.

Posted by Jason Farnsworth. Image source unknown.

On the Facebook Arizona Trail 2019, hikers and local trail folks have posted photos of the scene at various points along the trail. I have taken the liberty of stealing some of them without permission, so my apologies in advance to anyone who might object. I will give credit when I know who took the pictures. Here is Patagonia, the town about 15 miles south of where I got hurt. Great place to visit, by the way.

Photo credit: Ken Taylor

Even the city of Tucson got snowed on this past week. I'm sure it happens now and then, but when you think of Tucson, do you picture snow at ~2,100 feet? Mt. Lemmon, northeast of the city, where I would have camped Thursday or Friday had I continued, recorded overnight temperatures well below zero and a couple of feet of new snow. Check out the humorous Tucson Police Department video.

Photo credit: Pat Mount

The further north you go, the deeper the snow and the colder the temps. Many of the access roads are buried or iced over. Some have been cleared. Passage 8 is pictured here. 

Photo credit: Ken King

The Mazatzal Mountains, said to be part of one of the most beautiful, if strenuous passages, look like they will be definitely challenging for quite some time.

Photo credit: Gary Householder

Deep snow on top of sharp cactus with obliterated trail means slow going, which means more clothing, food, and fuel to carry. It is possible, of course. I have hiked through stuff like this before and I am sure there will be strong hikers who will do it this year. But not me. The American Flag trail head is pictured here.

Photo credit: Gary Faulkenberry

Then of course there is the Grand Canyon. Is this how you imagine the approach to the Bright Angel Trail on the South Rim? Yikes! Don't follow this piggy!

Photo credit: Haley Johnson

I will wait and hike what I can some day if I am still able. I want to see a Gila Monster and cacti and wildflowers and mountain trails through Jeffrey pines. I want to test my memory of the Grand Canyon formations up close. I want to enjoy the kaleidoscope of colors I know Arizona has to offer. Mess with snow? Not so much.

Peace, Love, and Arizonasnowmageddon 2019,

Jim